Meet me under the Mistletoe
by CeCeLa
Summary: Seychelles has a secret Santa who seems fond of the Twelve Days of Christmas Song. Can she figure out who her mystery giver is before America's big Christmas party?
1. A Partridge in a Pear Tree

**A Partridge in a Pear Tree**

It's Christmas time and that usually means joy, cheer and lot of meetings to wrap up the end of the year. Seychelles usually doesn't mind these since her economy is quite small so her meetings with countries didn't last that long. Today is the general world meeting and it's usually the longest one on her agenda.

She's makes it a point to not be late or she tries very hard not to be anyway. She's just barely made it, a bit winded since she ran the entire way. But Germany is just making his way to the podium and the room is still filled with noise. This means the meeting hasn't been called to order yet.

Yes, she's on time.

Seychelles doesn't intend to make a spectacle of herself so she hurries to the chair where her colourful flag rest. She sits her folder down first and pulls out her chair.

Oh.

She glances up and around at the room. No one seems to notice her and nothing seems out of the ordinary…except for one small addition. There's a little white box with a carefully made red bow sitting in her seat. It was wonderfully concealed under the table since neither of her neighbours seems to know what it is and how it got there.

She sits quickly, keeping the box under the table in her lap. Who could have done such a thing? The country smiles warmly as she feels the weight. It's rather heavy for such a small box, not too heavy, just heavier than the box itself.

Maybe it is from one of the African nations? Or England? Or France? Please God, not France. For good measure, she glances in his direction. The Frenchmen appears busy reviewing notes as Germany begins to speak.

Since people's attention is currently distracted, Seychelles takes the opportunity to open the little box.

There's a large muffin inside, so big that whoever did this barely got all of it to fit in the box. The smell of spices is strong and she guesses that it must be gingerbread. It's befitting for the season. She replaces the top as coffee starts to be distributed. This is great, she thinks. She can try the muffin with a nice cup of coffee.

When her coffee is given, Seychelles takes the lid off again, pinching a piece off the top of the muffin to sample.

"Mmm," she mutters to herself and marvels at the ingenuity of her 'secret Santa'. The gingerbread muffin had been accent with pear chucks. Pears are one of her favourite fruit.

"Oh," she breathes as she looks at the inside of the top. Seychelles hasn't noticed until now that there is writing in it. Her eyes widen in surprise as she reads to delicate script and then she stiffs a chuckle. Very clever, whoever this person is.

It reads, "_On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…"_


	2. Two Turtledoves

**Two Turtledoves**

By the first recess, Seychelles is still none the wiser on who her secret Santa can be. Everyone seems to be acting normally (or as normal as these meetings can get). There is a sinking feeling that it could have been from France. He's the only country she can think of who would come up with such a delicious muffin idea and know pears are one of her favourite fruit. Then again, the pear chucks match the song, '_a partridge in a pear tree'_.

She is a little sad actually, Seychelles really wants to thank the person for the delicious snack. Maybe she still can and also figure out who it is without asking.

She makes her way to the door, squeezing between taller nations to get through. There's a trashcan there and she stops to throw away the box. Fishing it from her bag, she's about to toss it but reconsiders. Maybe she can get the box top as a memory. She likes collecting those and souvenirs.

All at once, the little island country is grabbed and lifted off the ground. Someone spins her around for a second before placing her on her feet again.

"Hi, Madagascar," Seychelles says with a small eye-roll, turning around to see her neighbouring island. "You could have just said 'hello' instead of picking me up."

The man shrugs, and gives her a slow, easy smile then reaches up and pats her head. "I could have, put you're so tiny and cute. Besides, I'm the only one who does that so you know it's me."

That's true. Madagascar is the only country in the whole world he greets her by picking her up and spinning her around.

"What's that?" he asks, pointing at the box top in her hands.

"Oh," Seychelles looks at it then hands it to him. "Someone gave me a muffin, a secret Santa."

He takes it from her, reads the inscription and looks back. "I didn't know we were doing secret Santas."

"Me either, but I guess we missed the announcement?" It's not impossible. She and Madagascar were usually the late ones to the African Union meetings. "I want to get them something. Wanna come to the store with me? We have twenty minutes of recess left."

He nods and, before she can protest, he lifts her off the ground bridal style.

"Ack! I can walk."

"I know, but I thought you might like the view from up here better."

He just enjoys rubbing it in that he's taller than her.

In the end, Seychelles and Madagascar agree on getting a card. It's simple and cute with moving Santa arms and legs. Inside, she writes a simple 'thank you for the muffin' and Madagascar insist that she puts 'To: Secret Santa". They also agree on getting back a bit early so she can sit the card in the middle of the large conference table. That way, she can see who it is and thank them in person later.

The plan is fireproof so she makes her way to the room while most nations are still out in the hall chatting.

"Oh," Seychelles in a bit of surprise to find one nation already in there, "hi Canada." She waves and he looks up, equally surprised though she doesn't get why.

"Seychelles," he says with a nod and looks down at his lap then back to her. "You're here early."

She nods too, making her way to the table with her envelope, "Yeah, I have a package to deliver." She jokes.

"A package?"

She laughs and shows him the envelope before sitting it in the center of the table, then walks around to his chair. "It's more of a thank you envelope for my secret Santa."

Canada shifts in his seat and smiles kindly at her as she takes the seat next to him. "I don't think that's how secret Santa's work. It's supposed to be a secret."

"I know, that's why I didn't put my name on it. I just said thank you so they know I got it and like it."

He peaks up a little. "What was it? The gift."

"Oh," she says causally and looks at the doors that open, countries slowly falling in, "it was a muffin with pears in it. It was really cute with the whole a partridge in a pear tree thing." She looks back to him, "it really was good and maybe, just maybe I want to get a sneak peak at who gave it to me…"

Seychelles looks back at the growing crowd then to the table where her envelope…should be. It's gone? It's gone! Her eyes quickly scan, trying to find where the envelope escaped too. Who has it who? She spots it in the hands of…

_China_?!

Well that is most unexpected. She's never really looked at China in any type of way other than wondering if he really could do those moves she's seen on TV. Why would he give her a secret Santa? It doesn't make sense.

"Who wrote this?" he asks, drawing attention from surrounding nations.

"Wrote what?" a nation asks and Seychelles feels the sinking feeling of dread. This isn't how this is supposed to go!

"It's a card to a secret Santa?'

"Oh, lemme see!" America yells from somewhere and snatches the envelope from China. "you have a secret Santa?"

"Not me!" China grumbles and tries to snatch the envelope but the America holds his arm up high, "it was just sitting in the middle of the table. Stop that!"

"Get it if you can, dude!"

"I didn't know you were such a child, America," England says, Seychelles just wants to fold in on herself. If England sees it, he'll recognize her handwriting and then ask her all kinds of questions and totally ruin her secret note.

She can't let that happen. Seychelles jumps up, apologizing to Canada as she pushes her way to the growing crowd around her envelope. If she can just get through and sneakily take the envelope back…

America's voice gets her attention. "Hey, no fair, dude. You're such a killjoy, Russia."

Russia? Oh no, does he have her envelope? Is he her secret Santa? Sure, he was the first person she went to after her independence but that was more so to piss England off, not that she really considered going the USSR. Maybe he was showing his appreciation?

"To bad you're not taller, Amerika," Russia chimes, "I read now, da."

No. No. No. No!

Seychelles can't see over the crowd now but she hears some scoffs between America and Russia until, finally, Germany steps in.

"Everyone to your seats, now!" he commands and people fall in line. But where's her letter? Seychelles glances around once the crowd dissipates. She spots Madagascar looking at her with a raised brow and she shrugs helplessly as the envelope is lost in the shuffle.

Sighing in defeat she makes her way to her own chair, as the room is still abuzz about the secret Santa. Seychelles, without looking, pulls out her chair and plops down only to pop right back up. What is _this _now?

There's a box wrapped in brown paper with little birds on them and a straw ribbon. She nearly squashes the thing went she sits. Seychelles picks it up, looking around the room again. Somehow, her secret Santa managed to sneak in her gift amidst the envelope commotion. This box is heavier than the first gift and a bit bigger.

Quickly, she undoes the straw ribbon and removes the lid. _Wow, they are really on a ball_. She thinks and picks up her new gift, a sturdy new mug. She examines it curiously, turning it over in her hands and finds a potters mark on the base. _It's…handmade_? She admires the glaze—a richly varied amber that is sparked with darker and lighter flecks and on the front two hand painted turtledoves sit side by side on a tree bark.

Seychelles looks inside the mug and can't help the smile. At the base, in black cursive it reads, _'On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me….'_.

"Alright dudes and dudettes," America's boisterous voice announces, "We're going to get to the second item on the agenda—my party—but first I'm gonna read this envelope."

Seychelles' head whips around to face the blond nation. She blushes as he reveals the content of her envelope, the Santa card.

"It says, '_Thanks for the muffin, it was really tasty. Merry Christmas_.' Aw," America whines, "I want a muffin from a secret Santa! So, Santa, are you gonna come claim your card? Anyone?"

Seychelles looks around expectedly, as does everyone else. Nobody moves but a lot of people are whispering to each other. It doesn't help her pick out who it could be. Then her eyes land on Canada, who sits calmly between Cameroon and Cape Verde. He finally looks at her and smiles then offers a small wave.

Could it be…Canada?

"Nobody gonna claim this?" America asks, "Alright then, I'm just gonna put it in my pocket. Now about my Christmas party. Only awesome countries are invited so not Russia…"

* * *

><p><em>AN: Sorry, Russia. ^^_


	3. Three French Hens

**Three French Hens**

The meeting adjourns late into the evening and Seychelles has kept her eye on Canada the entire time. The man didn't seem to notice as he was busy writing notes and asking questions, something she should have been doing.

People exist the room and Seychelles lingers to keep a close eye on her prime suspect.

"Are you ready to go, now?" Madagascar asks with an exasperated sigh, "Maybe that's all the gifts he's going to give you today. Or maybe he's not your secret admirer."

"Santa," Seychelles corrects him, "secret Santa and he was the only one in here before I got here. That gives him plenty of time to have snuck the mug in my chair."

The other island nation sighs and lays his forehead on the table. "But I'm so hungry…"

She ignores him and continues to watch as the North American nation converses with his brother and France. It just surprised her that him, of all nations, would think of something so sweet. Well, he is a really sweet guy but he's almost like a brother to her since both of them grew up under France and England.

It's just a little odd. Canada really is sweet though and maybe he has gifts for his other 'family' members too and she's just the first to receive hers, like she's the first two days of Christmas.

Seychelles sighs and sits back in her chair, cradling her mug.

"Can we go _now_?" Madagascar peels his face off the table long enough to whine at her.

She finally concedes. If it is Canada, they're staying in the same hotel so she'll just thank him after dinner. "Can I get a ride?" she looks up at her long time friend with a wry smile.

Madagascar returns the smile, his honey eyes bright and he pushes the headband holding his hair down back a bit more. "Sure thing, little one," he agrees then stands, turns and bends a bit so Seychelles can get on his back.

"I was hoping for something a little more exciting," she admits to him a bit woefully as they stand in the elevator.

His head tilts and turns so he can get a better look at her face. "What do you mean?"

She shrugs one shoulder and toys with the mug in her hands and pushes herself up a bit further on his back. "I don't know, I just…" Seychelles trails off, hiding her face in his tumbling curls.

"Just what?" Madagascar insists.

She knows what, but it's too embarrassing to say out loud. Sure, they'd been friends for a long time but this is the first time they'd ever talked about something like what she's thinking. It's always about fish or trades or pirates never about the possibility of somebody…liking her.

Seychelles huffs and his chocolate hair tickle her nose. "I just thought that maybe somebody saw me as more than England's little sister and France's little colony. " she squeezes her eyes shut, "…that somebody liked me…"

"Hey now," the Malagasy says happily as he bounces out of the elevator, "I like you."

"You don't count…" Seychelles retorts miserably.

"Well I still like you," he counters easily, "and if nobody else sees how great you are, they're blind. I mean, look at you. You're like the size of a cute doll, fun sized. That counts for something, right?"

It's enough to make her stiff a chuckle. Seychelles turns her head and rests her cheek against his hair, and draws her arms a bit tighter around his neck as the cold air hits them. "Yeah I guess…" her tone isn't much better but she feels a tiny bit better at the compliment.

"Look," says Madagascar and Seychelles doesn't even bother.

"I know, I know, I should be sa—,"

He quickly interjects, "No, _look_."

This time, the Seychellois woman pulls her head up and squints as she can see her car in the parking lot as well as a cage sitting on top. "No way…" she breathes in disbelief, trying to see as much over her friend's head as possible. "Is that…?"

"Three french hens?" He asks teasingly, "yeah."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Two for the price of one? Yeah, cause I'm in a generous Christmas kind of mood._


	4. Four Calling Birds

**Four Calling Birds:**

Actual French hens? What is she going to do with three actual hens? It was a cute gesture but Seychelles really wishes her secret Santa (admirer according to Madagascar) had thought it through. The hens slept in her room and the following morning, she has them on a plane back to Seychelles where one of her neighbours will put them in her chicken coop.

On the one hand, she's a bit surprised and giddy that this person knows enough about her to know she has farm animals. On the other hand, that only leaves a handful of countries. As it is, today the countries broke off into regional organizations and the African Union meets in a separate room.

Seychelles reasons that no other country outside of the African Union will be at this meeting and if she does get a fourth gift, it must be from someone in the room. That leads her to wondering if they really had decided on secret Santas in a meeting she must have fallen asleep through. It will be awful if that's case. She doesn't even know whose name she might have! Plus, her person has been putting in all this effort.

With a sigh, Seychelles walks down the hall, folders in her arms and her bag strapped across her shoulders. She chews her lips as the door nears and her heartbeat picks up a bit. Maybe there is another present? Maybe there isn't? But there could be, right? There's should be. All of the question race through her mind and she tries desperately to shake them off. She's a nation, a country! She is not some high school girl looking for a note from her secret admirer. It's probably Canada anyway and the gifts started and stopped yesterday.

Armed with this newfound determination, she opens the door and finds most of the African nations there. They don't sit in alphabetical order but by region and geographical location so her seat is close to Madagascar. They met each others gaze and she shakes her head slightly when he silently asks if she has another gift. There's a giddy sort of buzz brewing in her stomach as she nears her chair. Seychelles tries to push it down but it gets high as she gets closer. When she finally reaches the chair, she's fighting with her lips not to smile.

Slowly, almost cautiously she sits her folders down and pulls out her chair to find nothing. Nothing? Seychelles blinks and pulls it out all the way. Still nothing. Maybe it fell? She moves the chair completely from under the table then looks under the table to see if her fourth present was accidently kicked or something. She looks under the chair then under the table again just to be thorough.

"Michelle?"

"Huh?" Seychelles moves a bit too quickly to stand and her head smacks the table instead. "Ouch…" she hisses, kneels down and slowly backs out this time, hand on her now throbbing head.

Congo does not look amused. "If you're done playing hide and seek under the table," he says, "we're ready to start."

Seychelles blushes and stands slowly. She can hear others snickering at her but she keeps her head down as she sits and pushes closer to the table.

Of course there's no fourth gift.

By the end of meeting, Seychelles doesn't even know what the hell people have been talking about. At one point, when Comoros was talking, she looked up and her fellow island nation gave her a sympathetic look. Ugh, she just wants to bury herself under the crisp coolnees of her hotel sheets and die.

She doesn't even wait for Madagascar this time, wanting to be alone to waddle in her misery. All she's every going to be is France's little territory and England's little island girl. People didn't even notice her until after the whole Prince William and Kate Middleton thing but that only boosted tourism, not really her popularity on an international and it most certainly won't make someone look at her _romantically_. Can nations even have romantic relationships?

"Maybe I should stop thinking…"Seychelles mutters to her self as the elevator whines open. She drags her feet out, shoulders slump, down the hall and fiddles with her pockets to find the key card. America's hotels were too big, in her opinion. She prefers the small down home country feel to plush carpet and fancy art. Some of the art on the wall isn't even that fancy!

"Oh for Christ sake," she grumbles when she can't find her key and looks down to actually see where her hands are going. She rounds the corner to her corridor and finds the key card just in time to find Madagascar smiling at her with twinkling brown eyes.

"What are you doing, Maddy?" she asks tiredly. He hasn't moved from in front her door and Seychelles is in no mood to push him.

"I came to check up on you. You know, after that whole banging her head under the table thing and then I saw this…" he steps aside.

There, dangling on the door is a small blue bag, the same blue of her favourite dress, with little shimmers in it. When the light hit just right, it resembles ocean waves.

"Well don't just stand there gawking at it!" Madagascar finally says and Seychelles snaps out of the trance she isn't aware she's end.

Quickly, she grabs the bag and opens the door, tossing everything aside anywhere and rushing to the bed. Seychelles pauses and glances up at her friend before peering inside the blue bag.

"Well?" male nation eagerly prods.

Seychelles giggles as she displays the bag's contents on the. She'd been given a stack of four chocolate bars—the same kind she always buys from the vending machine, except there's a picture of a songbird taped to the front of each one.

"That's real sweet," Madagascar opines. "You can't go wrong with chocolate. This guys on a roll."

"How do you know it's a guy?"

Madagascar shrugs. "A hunch I guess."

The island nation nods slowly as she fingers the small card that had been enclosed with the treat.

_'On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…'_ suggests that this is only the beginning.


	5. Five Golden Rings

**Five Golden Rings:**

Seychelles hardly sleeps that night she's so giddy. Whoever's doing this is clearly doing their best to spoil her… and though she feels a little guilty, their generosity makes her ridiculously happy.

_I wish I knew who I have to thank for all of this. _She thinks as her alarm clock goes off for the morning. Her meetings won't start until noon and it's just fine for her. She uses the opportunity to try and figure out the mystery giver. She can't leave everyone out so, sadly, France and England are included in her list. Thanks to Madagascar's observation, Seychelles eliminates the female nations.

But the list is still huge. There's always a chance it's someone who knows her but she doesn't know them that well. A part of her hopes not because what if she doesn't have the same feelings as them? That would be awful!

So far her suspect list consist of Canada because he was in the conference room when her second present appeared. America because he kept her card, it's a small thing but could have been his way of accepting it without drawing attention. France, obviously, because of the three French hens. Who else could pull that off? She also adds every African nation's name that left the conference room before her. The list isn't impressive but it's a start.

Seychelles leaves it at that and sits her laptop to the side then rolls off the bed. She lays out her clothes for the afternoon and just as she's about to get in the shower, someone knocks on her hotel door.

"Room service!" A man yells in a distinct weird American accent. It sounds familiar but there's something off, American but not really American.

Room service? She thinks and grabs the plush white bathrobe then ties it around her. Seychelles walks to the door but doesn't open it. "I didn't order room service." She tells the man.

"Is this Michelle LaRoche's room?" the man asks.

"Um, yes?"

"Then this is for you." He declares, "I would leave it in front your door but the gentleman specifically told me to give it to you."

Gentleman? What gentleman? Oh, Oh! Seychelles quickly flings open the door. It must be her next gift. A young man, dressed in a white service uniform carries a tray into her room. Seychelles follows close behind until he sits it down.

On the silver tray is a small pyramid made of candy. Not just any candy, but the golden wrapped hazelnut covered chocolate, Ferrero Rocher. The pyramid is made of five tiers of the hazelnut chocolate, with a golden bow at the top. The now-familiar card is affixed to the bow. Seychelles' lips curve into a smile as she reads the front, curiously she flips it over to find a new message and clue,_ 'Never go wrong with chocolate. –M'._

* * *

><p><em>AN: Who is this mysterious 'M'? Who do you think her secret admirer is? Any ideas? _


	6. Six Geese-A-Laying

**Six Geese-A-Laying**

"This is killing me," Seychelles says and rubs her gloved hand over the ceramic goose egg in her pocket. "It's the sixth gift already and all I have is an initial."

Madagascar nods and sips his hot chocolate, "It's a lot more than you had before," he offers hopefully but Seychelles only shakes her head.

"I thought that until I actually looked up how many countries name start with 'M'." she says woefully, " It's 18, including you. Then there are always human names to consider. I'm so bad at remembering those though…"

Madagascar chuckles and nudges her under the table with his foot, "C'mon, that's nothing to be moping about. Someone out there thinks you're worth 12 gifts, just think about that. Not knowing is half the fun."

She knows he's right. Her knew gift, the ceramic goose egg was a nice surprise this morning. Her secret Santa cleverly snuck it into her coat pocket. They must have done so during the hustle of meetings yesterday.

"This is a nice place," Madagascar offers with a welcomed change of subject, "cozy too. Have you been here before?"

Seychelles shakes her head, "It was England's idea. He wants to meet up for a 'light snack'." When he raises a brow, she further explains. "He does this with all of his former territories and colonies, multiple times of the year but mainly with America because Alfred actively avoids these meetings."

"Why don't you do that?"

She shrugs in responses and picks up the menu that's jammed between the salt, pepper and napkin dispenser. "He's not so bad when he's not being a possessive jerk."

"Once a pirate, always a pirate, that's what I say."

"What's this about pirates?" England asks and smiles at Seychelles who smiles back. "I didn't know you were joining us, Madagascar."

The man taps is fingers on the table. "I wasn't" he tells England and turns back to Seychelles, "ignore the politics." He tells her with a wink and stands to give England his seat. "Catch you later, little one."

Seychelles sees him off then turns back to England. "What was all that?" he asks.

"Just Maddy being Maddy. I had my hot chocolate already, here." She hands him the menu and England takes it once his coat and gloves come off.

He orders a coffee for himself, another hot chocolate for her and two slices of sponge cake. They talk about general things, how each other's countries are doing and stuff like that. England asks about her farm animals and Seychelles goes off for almost thirty minutes about a goat that decided to run away and how she had the hardest time finding it. England's patience is commendable and after a little while, comfortable silence sets in.

"I talked to America," England says and sips his coffee casually.

"About the party?" Seychelles assumes and taps her empty mug, "I have to admit, I didn't think a costumed Christmas party was a good idea but it's grown on me. I still have to get a costume though."

The Brit nods in understanding. "Yes, well, you know how the lad gets about these things. I'm sure he's quite proud of himself for coming up with such an idea. But," he sits the cup down and laces his fingers on the table, "When I said I talked to America, I was actually referring to a certain thank you card for a secret Santa."

Seychelles stiffens and her glaze drifts to the window. "Uh huh," she says and tries her hardest not to look the less bit suspicious though her hand absentmindedly reaches for her coat pocket.  
>"Michelle…"<p>

Don't say anything. Don't. Say. A. Word.

"Michelle."

"It was totally unexpected!" she blurts out and then sighs at her lack of self-control. Seychelles looks guilty at England then down at the table, "I don't know who it is. I just wanted to tell them thank you for the muffin."

England's chuckle makes her look up and he's smiling sweetly at her, very fatherly even. It's weird.

"Has there been any more gifts from your secret Santa?" he questions, and then flags the waitress down for a glass of water.

Seychelles shifts nervously in her seat. "Yes," she mumbles finally, "six of them…"

"Six? Oh my, the chap must really be trying to impress you." Seychelles offers no answer. "Well, do you have any idea who it could be?"

She shakes her head in the negative. "I don't know who would go through all of this. It's nice though. I'm not complaining. I do really want to know who it is. I mean, they're probably going to go through all the 12 days of Christmas. I at least want to get them something."

"Yes, well, you don't have to get them anything." He chides gently, "You have no obligation to this chap, even if he is giving you things. You don't have to do anything you don't want to, like forming alliances and things. Don't let them pressure you."

Seychelles looks at him a bit confused and more than slightly put off. "Is that what you think this is? Someone is trying to bribe me into an alliance with gifts?"

England waves his hand dismissively and wipes his mouth with a napkin. "That's not what I'm saying. Just, if it does come to that, you should know you aren't obligated to do it. But," he pauses and fiddles with the napkin in his hands, folding it into a small square, "is there anyone that you…that you're _hoping_ for it to be? A crush maybe?"

Seychelles' face burst into flames and she can feel the blush from the top of her head down her neck and back. "I-I don't know! Why would you ask that? I never really, I mean. I haven't, you know, thought about any particular country like_ that_. Sure, I think some people are cute but I've never really had a crush on anyone!" Well, that's not totally true. There was that one time she really liked…but that was decades ago!

The blonde laughs wistfully, "Alright, I was only asking. Shall we go for a walk then? I hear there's going to be snow this year and Central Park is supposed to be decorated."

Seychelles gladly accepts the change of subject and nods quickly. Now that England's brought it up, she wonders if it could be him. It would be nice if it were he, a pleasant surprise to be honest. She always assumed that he kind of liked; well, it doesn't matter. For now, she accepts England's invitation to walk in Central Park.

* * *

><p>AN: Oh England, always the fatherly one. Or is he? Is he 'M'? Who knows! :D


	7. Seven Swans-A-Swimming

**Seven Swans-A-Swimming**

Normally, Seychelles doesn't like the cold or snow, but today she smiles as she walks down the street, eyes skyward. England was right, it snowed all night and into the morning. Now, late in the evening, flurries drift down on the lit up New York streets. Surprisingly, the street she's on is blissfully empty and she reaches her gloved hands up to catch the flurries.

"Sneak attack!" Madagascar yells though his voice is muffled because of her ear muffles and before Seychelles can react, he swoops her up off the ground. The woman laughs and halfheartedly struggles to get down.

"Can you two be serious, please?" Comoros asks, pushing up her glasses as she walks pass then. "It's too cold out here to play around."

Mauritius runs to catch up with them, his bags weighing him down.

"Aw. I smell a Grinch." Madagascar teases. Seychelles chuckles. It didn't occur her until now that she'd stopped walking. "Don't be like that, Como, it's Christmas."

"Comoros," she corrects and turns around to the two who'd stop moving, eyeing Madagascar and Seychelles playing in the snow. "It's five days before Christmas and none of us, except Mauritius has a costume. Can you two stop acting like children so we can focus?"

Neither really listens to her as Seychelles scoops up some snow, not even forming it into a ball before smashing it against her friend's shoulder. Madagascar bends over laughing and she uses the opportunity to jump on his back.

"Guys!" Comoros marches up to them.

Madagascar straightens with Seychelles on his back and smiles lazily at the woman storming up to him. Comoros is short, taller than Seychelles but still shorter than him. "For such a tiny lady, you're mighty uptight."

Comoros ignores him in favor of looking at Seychelles, "What has you so excited? You're normally the first person complaining when the temperature drops."

"Someone likes her," Mauritius supplies as he catches up with the group. Again. Seychelles pokes her tongue at him. "And he's been giving her presents."

"What?" Comoros asks, quite surprised.

Madagascar shrugs and trudges on toward the snow. Comoros stands dumbly for a moment before quickly following. "Someone likes you? Who? Why didn't you tell me? How come Mauritius and Madagascar know and not me?"

Seychelles dust snow from Madagascar's hair even though more accumulate. "I didn't tell Mauritius. He was nosy and snuck up on me and Maddy while we were talking this morning."

"I overheard them talking about her swan pendent." He says proudly and Comoros spies a glimpse of the pendent on her neighbor's shirt.

"Did your 'friend' give that to you?" she asks and Seychelles nods.

"It's the seventh gift," Mauritius answers for her and smiles brightly at Seychelles and then to Comoros who looks deep in thought.

"So," the African French Arabic nation says, "Do you know who it is?"

"Not a clue." Madagascar supplies. "Oh, let's go into this store!" he says gleefully and veers in that direction even after Comoros' protest.

They shop around for a bit and, eventually, all island nations find a costume for the party.

"Ever since that movie came out, you pick the same kind of costume every year." Mauritius laughs as Madagascar bobs his head, the headdress feathers shaking in the process.

"No I don't. I'm going as King Julien XIII this Christmas." He processes to dance up the street while singing 'I like to move it, move it.' Seychelles attempts to join before Comoros grabs her by the back of her coat to stop it before it beings.

"I have a theory." She informs them. Madagascar turns around and starts dancing backwards. "That's not surprising." He sings in tune of his song.

Comoros rolls her eyes and pushes up her glasses again. "I think we've missed and important point in Seychelles' secret admirer."

"What's that?" said nation ask in all seriousness. True, Madagascar said not knowing is half the fun but Seychelles really wants to know.

"I think we've been investigating this one dimensionally." Comoros rubs her chin as she walks; "We've looked at and considered all of the names, human and country, that start with 'M' in _English_. It's the international language, but what if this person is using their own language to better conceal themselves? Country names aren't the same in every language, for instance I'm Comoros in English and French, Komori in Comorian and _Juzur al-Qumur _in Arabic. My initials could essentially be C, K or Q."

Seychelles sighs dramatically and slumps her shoulders. "So there's even more names to add to the list."

"Yes and no," Comoros says easily, "'M' very well may not stand for a name at all but a word like 'monsieur', 'man' or 'mystery man'".

Seychelles whines something awful but Madagascar just laughs. "You're putting too much thought into this, Como. You're thinking like a girl." He says and stops his dancing long enough to explain. "Guys don't think like that with the whole word thing, language thing maybe. The fact that this guy is going through all this puts him a cut above the rest. But he's still a guy. We're simple minded people."

"So," Seychelles pipes up, "We still have to add people who's name beings with M in other languages?"

"Maybe. But I wouldn't stress too much about it. I told you, being surprised is half the fun. Who knows, it could be me or Mauritius." Madagascar teases and turns around while Seychelles yells at him to wait up and explain, Mauritius cries foul and yells it isn't him and Comoros just shakes her head and chuckles to herself.

Island nations are crazy.

* * *

><p>AN: And the plot thickens with Comoros' helpful observation!


	8. Eight Maids-A-Milking

**Eight Maids-A-Milking**

By this time, country meetings have ben cut to half days, given nations time to prepare for the Christmas party. There was another world meeting and Seychelles half expected to receive a gift in her chair but there was none. She isn't fazed by it though. The day isn't over and the night is young and she pays France a visit. Actually, her former 'big brother' asks her to come and she only agrees after he assures her that Spain and Prussia will be there.

Of course, Prussia is there because it's his hotel room door she's currently banging on for the fourth time. The fact that she has patience with them at all is a mysterious feat but she's been around the infamous 'bad touch trio' to get them. And she knows that when they're playing a poker game, any and everyone has to wait until the hand is over. Some people were more prone to cheat in the name of 'answering the door'.

"I said don't drink all of the red. Leave some for me, Antonio!" the door flings open and France greets her with a smile but peaks over his shoulder. "Don't drink from the bottle!" he yells and stumps his foot then huffs in annoyance as the last of the wine is consumed in one gulp by said Spaniard.

"Hey Franny," Seychelles says and lets herself in. "Is the wine gone?"

"Michelle!" He seems to have finally decided to pay attention to her while she's taking off her coat, "I'm so glad you could make it." France pulls her into a hug that she isn't ready for and he leads further into the very luxurious room.

"Hola, Seychelles," Spain waves cheerfully from the bar, a bottle of white in his hands and Prussia sits at the card table, shuffling the cards. Much to her surprise, a newer face turns to greet her: Denmark. He's not really new. Sometimes he tags along with Prussia and they all hang together. She just wasn't expecting to see him here, mainly because he's one of the people on her list.

Who wouldn't blush when Denmark looks at them with big kind blue eyes and an easy smile? He's most certainly very attractive and his easy going mannerisms make him instantly likeable. It's no surprise than he's on her radar but for her to be on his, Seychelles will be shocked.

Denmark gets up from the table and greets her with a hug and his entire boy nearly swallows hers. Oh he's so warm and smells like cider or wood or something really really manly. Would it be totally wrong of her to bury herself in this hug? Yes. Yes it would.

"Hey, Chelles." The Dane says easily and pulls back but doesn't let go. "Still haven't grown yet?"

"I have time," Seychelles says weakly and he smiles kindly then let's her go.

"Romano's here!" France calls out suddenly and she looks over her shoulder further into the room for him. When she didn't spot him immediately, she looks back to France who saying something to Spain who's frowning at him.

"Where's Romano?" Seychelles asks, reluctantly letting go of her source of warmth in favor of finding her friend and catching her breath. The room really is big, too big for just one person. Were they sharing a room?

"He's sitting in front of the fireplace," Spain informs her and rolls his eyes at France before handing over the wine. He turns to face her, his signature carefree smile on his face. "I'm sure he'd be glad to see you. He's in there by himself."

She nods "Oh okay, well," she looks back into the room, "I'll go check on him then." If Romano is sitting by himself, something must have happened and she's willing to bet her life that he's sulking. Romano is always sulking about something and she hates seeing him that way.

Seychelles makes for the fireplace and also makes a mental note to ask why the heck Prussia has such a big room when he's not even a country. She has a hunch that Germany may not know he's paying for this (Prussia's pulled that before) but she doesn't know for sure. It wouldn't surprise her though.

Like Spain said, Seychelles spots Romano sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, his knees pulled up to his chest just staring into the flames. He had to hear all of the commotion but he hasn't turned around to greet her. Seychelles just smiles and plops on the floor next to him. She nudges him in the shoulder then turns perpendicular to him and rests her back against his side.

"Hey," Seychelles calls to him.

"Hey."

"You okay?"

Romano snorts and she feels him fold his arms on his knees. "Stupid potato bastard cheated. I can't deal with those idiots."

Seychelles giggles and looks up at the ceiling, slumping a bit more against him. "Prussia always cheats. You'd think after years you'd learn that. That's why I don't play with them."

"You think I wanted to be here?" he retorts, "Spain practically dragged me from my room."

Her head dips to the side and she tries to see his face. "Why?"

"How the fuck should I know why that bastard does half the things he does?" Romano defends and she can't help but laugh. "I don't know, maybe because you guys are so close. Hey,"

Seychelles turns a bit more to catch a better glimpse of his face that's partially tucked in his sweater sleeves. "Your face is red." She pokes the part of his cheek that's visible and Romano turns his head away.

"The fire's hot." He mumbles into his sweater and she nods in understanding. She and Romano have been something like friends since the BTT became a thing. She was France's shadow and he was Spain's so, naturally, they spent more than a few nights like this, just the two of them. Sometimes Germany tagged along but, for the most part, it was just Seychelles and Romano together, complaining about the countries in there playing cards.

"Romano, how do you say Italy in Italian?" Seychelles blurts suddenly. This makes him look up and she suddenly regrets ever considering asking him.

"What kind of question is that?" Romano questions in return, his brown eyebrows knitted together in obvious confusion.

Seychelles blushes and quickly turns back around to her previous sitting position. "I was just wondering, you know. Is it the same in English? You don't have to tell me. It's stupid really, something me and Madagascar were talking about." It really is stupid. Why would she even consider Romano? Clearly there's something going on with him and Spain. She has a better chance with Denmark.

"You were talking about country names and languages?" he asks and she feels his head shift, thankfully, meaning he isn't looking at her anymore.

Seychelles sighs and gestures with her hands at the air. "Well, yeah because, because Comoros said that country names aren't the same in every language and I'd never thought about that before. So I was just wondering if she was right, even though Comoros usually is right. She's pretty smart you know…" If her head weren't resting on the ball of his shoulder she would have banged her head against it.

Romano stays quiet for a little bit and Seychelles holds her breath while mentally berating herself. This is stupid. She should have just listened to Madagascar and not worry about who it is.

"It's Italia." Romano says with a shoulder shrug, "it's almost the same but it sounds better."

"Okay." Well that settles that.

They sit in silence after that. Seychelles picks the carpet until her embarrassment dies down. The quiet is comfortable with the crackling fire filling in for conversation. Romano actually makes a nice resting post when he isn't swearing up a storm.

"Hey," Romano quietly interrupts, "do you wanna get something to eat?"

"Sure," Seychelles says a little too loudly, "I mean yeah, sure." She pushes up to stand and, as she does so, just barely catches a glimpse of three heads retreating. When she and Romano head for the door, it's only obvious that those four just sat down when Spain coughs and says,

"Yeah, Prussia, it's your turn!"

"My turn for what? The cards haven't even bent dealt yet."

"Then it's your turn to deal."

"But I'm always dealer!"

Seychelles and Romano leave the group there as they try, and fail, to act casual. They go to Little Italy (imagine that) and Romano's complaining is kept to a minimal. Especially after Seychelles kicks him under the table when he calls the waiter a very not nice name and the manager comes out. In the end, they get to eat for free since Romano insulted the cook enough for the man to dare the Italian to come in the kitchen and do better. And he takes the challenge. And he does do better. What takes them the longest is Romano and the man sharing recipes and after convincing the owner (yes the owner came) that, no, he is not going to come work in this restaurant, they leave with food to take home and a lifetime invitation to come back any time.

It's nearly midnight when Seychelles gets to her room. She showers and changes and gets ready for bed. She has an early meeting in the morning. Seychelles searches her purse for her cell phone to set the alarm and when she doesn't find it there, she digs in her jacket pocket. She finds her phone and a small card, so small that she would have mistaken it for trash if her name weren't on the front.

She opens it and reads the familiar saying, '_On the eight day of Christmas my true love gave to me'…_

Seychelles turns the card over, there's nothing on the back. She checks her pockets for something that may have been connected to the card. There's nothing in there but the usual lint. She looks at her surroundings on the floor to see if it fell. Seychelles doesn't spot anything out of the ordinary. What is it then? What did she get?

"What's the eight day of Christmas?" she asks herself as she searches the room again for her lost gift. Getting on all fours, Seychelles checks under the bed. "Maids are milking or something like that?" She crawls over to the desk where her purse sits in the chair. "Did he give me milk? A maid? A maid!"

Seychelles stands quickly and looks around the room. It is clean. Her bed is made with new sheets. The floor is vacuumed. Her coffee supply has been replaced. But these are all things that come with staying in a hotel. Maybe her secret admirer is being funny, playing on the whole maid thing because, so far, she hasn't found anything.

It's a little underwhelming if that's the case.

"Well, I shouldn't complain." She tells herself and toys with the card, "he has given me good gifts so far…" which is why it's strange to her that a maid is her present now.

Seychelles adds the card to the rest that she's collected so far and leaves the investigation where it is. She's too tired to care right now.

* * *

><p>AN: Oh the mystery!


	9. Nine Ladies Dancing

**Nine Ladies Dancing**:

The final world meeting adjourns with Germany reading the last fiscal report and Millennium Goals sheet from the United Nations and wishing everyone a safe vacation and Happy Holidays. Seychelles stuffs the last of her papers into her folder with much enthusiasm. Yes, they are done and she can focus her attention on her secret admirer.

Quickly she gathers her things and stands quickly.

"Ouch," someone wheezes out and the islander turns around quickly to see America holding his stomach. "Your chair hit me in the gut. For such a little girl, you sure can push a chair back."

Seychelles blushes and smiles sheepishly, "Sorry, America. I didn't know you were behind me. You should have said something!"

"Yeah, I guess I shouldn't've just snuck up on you like that." The blond agrees and smiles cheerfully at her. "Do you have a minute? I want to talk to you."

Seychelles looks away from him, just barely catching Madagascar's' eye before looking back to the American. "Sure, just let me get my things."

"Awesome, I'll be in the hallway waiting for you!"

America bounces away and Madagascar walks up to her whistling with his hands in his pockets. "New prospect?" he teases and nudges her shoulder.

The woman rolls her eyes. "No, he's not he just want to talk."

"About what?" Madagascar wags his brows.

"I don't know and stop making that stupid face!" Madagascar's grin only grows, "I'm serious, Maddy. You're being stupid. We're just talking."

Madagascar just laughs and walks with her to the door. They linger for a bit, talking to some countries as the mood of the room shifts from business like to talking about the party. Everyone seems to be in good spirits and excited, discussing costumes and coordinating outfits. Seychelles chats with Comoros, Mauritius and some other African countries. She even gets a chance to talk to Canada, France and Romano. Naturally, Spain joins the conversation and after saying quick greetings to a few more nations, Seychelles goes to meet America standing by the elevator.

The blond looks off until he spots her and brightens instantly and smiles a smile that makes her warm inside. "Maybe we can get something to eat," he offers and looks around them, "There's a burger place in walking distance."

Seychelles nods and America fist pumps the air and leads the way out of the building. They spot a few straggling nations that stop and speak America. He tries to politely tell them that they were going somewhere but she tells him it's fine and she doesn't mind waiting while they chat. Most people just want to get a bit more information about the party. America gives details but not too much and after assuring Japan that there wouldn't be blue cake; they set of again.

The burger place is called Five Guys and its extremely crowded. The place is packed full of people and loud and noisy but somehow comical with the way the workers yell out orders in New York accents. The place smells thick of grease, fries and beef and it's notably warmer than it is outside, probably from the open stovetops visible from behind the counter where numerous beef patties are flipped. It takes them a full thirty minutes to get from the door to being second in line. America fills the time with idol conversation. Seychelles takes in the scenery and listens to him, nodding in all the right places.

America orders for the both of them even though the menu isn't complex. She stiffs a chuckle at the way his accent changes as he interacts with his citizens. His New York accent is just as thick as theirs and she wonders if it's like this with all regionally divided nations. Her island is small and though people speak different languages, the dialect never had this much range.

"What is this I have again?" she asks as they sit a booth.

"A little," America clarifies and shrugs off his coat, "I told them to put everything on it so it's like a typical hamburger. I love this place though because they give a bucket of fries and free peanuts."

He isn't lying about the fries. The people took a scoop and just dumped the fried potatoes into her bag, the grease has slowly started the make her brown paper bag see through.

Seychelles unwraps her 'little' and takes a bite. It's a good burger, she has to admit and they just eat for a little while. America orders three burgers for himself and two orders of fries. She watches in amazement as he plows through the first two burgers like nothing in the same time it takes her to eat half of her little one. When he catches her watching, she could have sworn he blushed a little.

Oh, so cute America.

Seychelles smiles at him, not really caring about the way he eats. Maybe he's hungry? Who is she to judge? Also, this isn't the first time she's seen him eat. They have 'family dinners' at England's house and America is the only one who successfully makes it through those things full. So, to make him feel a bit better, she devours the rest of her burger and when she hears him laugh, she knows she's successfully put him at ease.

"Was it good?" America asks her and she has to wash the bit down with some drink before she can properly answer him.

"Yeah it was." Seychelles tells him honestly, "I might have to come to New York just to eat at Five Guys."

America laughs a boisterous laugh. "It's almost all over the country so you can go to just about any state not just here."

She shrugs and dips some fries in the ketchup cup they share. "Then I'll make a tour of it. I'll call it, Seychelles' hamburger tour!"

His eyes light up and it really is cute to see him get so excited about something so simple. "You should try In-N-Out burger on the west coast! I could map out all of the great burger spots for you. If you ever make it to New Orleans, go to Juicy Lucy. They have cheese inside the patty."

"Inside?" Seychelles asks in honest astonishment. "Like, in the beef?"

He nods enthusiastically, "It oozes out like lava. So good. Port of Call has some good burgers too. I'll make a list for you."

"Maybe you can come with me?" Seychelles asks him, "You know this country back and forth and I will get lost if you leave me by myself. You can be my burger GPS."

American laughs again and discusses burgers until his fries are all gone and Seychelles gladly hands over her near bag full. She's barely made a dint in it.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" Seychelles turns the topic of the conversation and America looks a bit confused for a moment before realizing they weren't supposed to be talking about burger hopping.

"Yeah, right." He says then smiles. "It's about your thank you card. I didn't know it was yours I swear. But then England found me and, well," the blond rubs the back of his neck and looks away, "he kind of cornered me into letting him see it and he figured out it was you. I hope I didn't get you into too much trouble."

Blue eyes flicker to hers and she can't help but smile at how ashamed he looked. Seychelles reaches over and pats the hand that's resting on the table. "It's okay. He didn't go all 'British Empire, I'm protecting my colony' on me." They both laugh at that, "He just asked some question, the usual without the crazy."

"Have you found your secret Santa yet?"

"No, not yet. I think I might in a few days though…" she tells him without giving too much away.

"I think so too. Because," America tells her and she looks at him expectantly while he searches his coat pockets then pulls out a white envelope. "I found this!"

The white envelope has her name on it in the familiar penmanship of ever other gift. America waves it to her excitedly but Seychelles can only stare between the envelope and the nation giving it to her.

"W-where did you find it?" Seychelles stutters out and blushes at the way her voice cracks and heartbeat jumps a bit when America's smile widens. It's so adorable.

"On the floor in the conference room." He says easily and slides it to her since she refuses to just take it. "I figured instead of having another chance for England to be nosey, I should just give it to you myself."

"Oh," she can barely find her voice and Seychelles hesitates for a moment before picking it up. She chances a glance at America who looks about ready to hop over the table an open it himself. Could it be…him? Is America her secret admirer? Seychelles looks at the envelope, then America, the envelope again, America and then back to the envelope.

Carefully she breaks the seal and reaches in to pull out the card or whatever's inside. Seychelles blinks and peers but at the man across from her through her lashes as he eagerly eyes the invitation…to his party.

"Maybe there's something on the back?" he offers and Seychelles mechanically turns it over. There is something on the back, a drawing of a lady dancing and a message.

"What does it say?" America asks.

"Meet me under the mistletoe."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you everyone who's kept up with this story so far! I've had so much fun writing it! Three more chapters before we find the mystery guy!_


	10. Ten Lords Are Leaping

**Ten Lords Are Leaping**

Seychelles hardly sleeps that night. She tosses and turns in her bed and finally gives up after six a.m. There's no use, she won't rest tonight. It's two days until Christmas. Two days until she meets her mystery man under the mistletoe and her heart sunk at the thought. Then thumps louder at the possibility of it being a certain American. What's the odds of him 'finding' the envelope on the floor? How did he know it has something to do with her secret Santa? An educated guess, maybe, but who is really that educated?

She fixes herself some tea and orders room service, not wanting to chance going out and seeing America. She didn't know what she would do or say if he talks to her. Maybe pass out or stutter or something. America, like Canada, is a brother figure but he's also very handsome and they get on well.

The room service comes ten minutes later with her oatmeal, fruit and juice along with Comoros and…a gift.

"It was just sitting in front of your door." She informs and steps into the room going to sit on the bed. Seychelles gives her server a tip and closes the door then leans against it with her tea in hand.

"You don't look excited," Comoros comments and picks at the blue bow. "the wrapping is pretty."

"I think I know who it is…" Seychelles whispers.

Comoros looks at her with an unreadable expression. "America."

Seychelles' eyes widen and she stomps over to the bed, sits her tea down then throws herself on the mattress. "Who told you?"

"Maddy said you two went out and I put two and two together."

The smaller islander whines and buries her face in the sheets. Comoros calmly pats her back. "It all makes sense," her muffled voice comes through, " He kept the card. He can easily sneak things into my chair. The hotel is in his city so I'm sure he has connections and figured out where my room was. He's crazy enough to find three French hens and, to top it off, he actually _gave_ me my ninth gift." She blindly reaches for a pillow and pulls it over the back of her head, "Now I'm too nervous to go outside of my room and interact with the world. What if I see him? What if he smiles at me?"

Seychelles feels the pillow being lifted away. "What if it isn't him?"

She peels her face off the bed and looks up. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Comoros shifts until they're sitting face to face and places the medium sized box between them. "Why would he give you your present then ask you meet him under the mistletoe? It doesn't make sense. If he wanted to reveal himself later, why make himself a suspect now?"

"Because…he wants to throw me off?" Seychelles supplies. Comoros sighs and hands her her latest gift.

"America isn't the brightest bulb in the box but he is good at keeping secrets. It wouldn't do for him to have you suspicious."

She takes the box. The wrapping is pretty, very Christmas like with its blue skies and snow-covered trees wrapping paper and the big blue bow. She toys with the bow for a while, contemplating whether or not she wants to see what America may have gotten her. What if it is a mistletoe and he pops out of her closet? What the hell is she supposed to do then? She's never kissed anyone before!

"For the love of," Comoros grunts out and takes the present herself, "I'll do it." She carefully picks off the tape, keeping the paper in tact. The bow comes next and she pulls the ends until it gives way then slides the box between the openings she's made.

A white box eases out between them and Comoros removes the lid. There's a carnival mask inside—gold with royal blue swirls, gold beading and designs with a matching string attached to the ends. There's also a feathers the vivid blue stuck to the top of the mask and a note sitting on top of it. The craftsmanship on the mask is beautiful and almost looks handmade with the bits of glitter sprinkled over it to make it shine.

Seychelles picks it up with great care, brushing her fingers over the eye sockets and then the blue swirls. "It's beautiful," she whispers to herself.

"A perfect woman is the most noble thing in the world." Comoros reads then looks at Seychelles who looks at her confused.

"What does that have to do with the mask?"

Comoros takes the mask from her hands and examines it herself while Seychelles rereads the card. It is a nice mask though and the fact that it matches her pirate outfit perfectly is a coincidence. It looks so nice though she just wants to hang it up like decoration or something.

"I really hope it isn't handmade…" Seychelles thinks out loud.

"Nope. Says it's made in Italy." Comoros observes, "It looks like a Columbina mask anyway. I doubt a country handmade this. Are you going to wear it?"

Seychelles nods slowly, "I think I'm supposed to. I just…" she diverts her gaze.

"Are you nervous?"

She nods and shrugs.

"Disappointed?"

"A little…"

Comoros chews her lip and glances at her friend. "Were you hoping for someone else?"

She squeezes the paper and looks at anything but Comoros. "America's nice and very handsome. We get along and he's a sweet guy but…" Seychelles can't help but think of what England asked her, if she had someone she had a crush on. From that conversation on a new hope sparked that maybe, just maybe he was her crush. So far, it seems to be everyone else but him and she can't think of one thing that would point it to him directly. "I was hoping that it might be someone else."

* * *

><p><em>AN: I apologize for this being so late into the night. I've been on a flight almost all day to Canada. Greetings from Montreal! So, who does our little Chelles have a crush on? Is it the same person as her secret admirer? What the heck is up with that mask? Any ideas? Who do you think both people are?_


	11. Eleven Pipers Piping

**Eleven Pipers Piping**:

_**We interrupt this broadcast to bring you the secret Santa's point of view**_

He rubs his hands together to get rid of the cold and checks for the hundredth time if everything is in place. It is. He sighs and checks again. This is it, the biggest gift yet and he's more nervous than ever. She'll be coming soon and he wants to make sure everything is just right. It occurs to him that this may be a bit much, but he's consulted his brother who assures him that this is so romantic. Well, he knows it is that's why he's come up with the whole twelve days of Christmas thing.

"You ready, dude?" America comes up behind him with an unnecessarily strong clasp on the back. The blond is practically bouncing on his toes; "The hero has everything under control and ready. She won't know what to do with herself after this."

He sure hopes so, or else America is going to owe him big for this. Thus far, he's only had minor help getting the gifts to Seychelles from very few people. This latest gift, however, sort of forced his hand to include the blonde. Once he saw that _his_ thank you card had been confiscated, he needed to do something. He didn't have choice; America had to know.

The carolers start their songs and he knows it's only a matter of time. He adjusts his black hat and tightens his black mask. Yes, he's wearing a hat and mask or, more specifically, a Zorro costume per a certain Spaniard's insistence. It's a good idea since he's going to get rather close to her and he wishes to keep his identity secret until tomorrow. The costume leaves a lot to the imagination and he smirks to himself as he stands in the shadows of the Rockefeller Center. A part of him is nervous, that's true, but another part is anxious to do this, to see her face and watch her reaction. A smile tugs at his lips as he gazes out at the unsuspecting crowd of people out on Christmas Eve. It amazes him that so many people aren't inside with their families turning this time. He shrugs it off. It's America, he supposes.

The caroling is nice though. It reminds him of home and he listens along and closes his eyes. His head bobs slightly along to the children singing Jingle Bells. He even sings along to Hark the Herald, Angles sing,

"I see Comoros!" America yells out and points over the slew of people.

He gives the signal. The carolers switch out to eleven hand picked singers who start singing Michael Buble's Cold December Night. Everything else sort of goes in slow motion after that, the special police escort sort of clears the crowd a bit and he can see Seychelles more clearly. She looks lovely all bundled for dear life, clinging to Comoros' arms as both women gaze in awe at the huge Christmas tree.

Her wonderstruck look warms his stomach that does summersaults. They didn't even notice how the crowd parts for them. Maybe they think they just have luck and are squeezing through but from his position, he can see the policemen at work.

Seychelles is pointing and smiling at the decorations while Comoros nods along but her attention is more on the singers than the Christmas lights. The shorter islander is cooing at everything but she sways to the music and clings to her friend, resting her head on her shoulder. It's cute, endearing even, but he wishes it were him she's clinging to and cooing at. Soon enough, hopefully.

When the song ends, he starts moving. The men sing a soulful rendition of All I Want For Christmas Is You. This is it. This is his moment. He checks his pocket, the rose is there along with the card attached to the steam so she knows that all of this is for her. America gives him the thumbs up and he nods. The Christmas tree lights switch, flickering to make it look like snowdrops. Then the lighting changes, a plethora of color in a splendid light show that is just enough to distract Seychelles and the entire crowd from noticing Zorro slip on stage behind the singers.

He has people in the crowd, courtesy of America, who make sure the two women are front and center near the stage. One by one, a singer pulls a lucky lady onto stage to sing to. The women laugh and smile and Seychelles looks like she wants to be in on the action. Don't worry; he's going to make it happen soon enough. For now, she pouts a bit at being skipped and he can't help but chuckle.

The song reaches the bridge and it's now or never. The Christmas tree lights still flicker, making a light show on the stage. He takes a deep breath and makes his debut. Seychelles notices him and squints in a bit of confusion. Their eyes meet as he moves closer. She looks somewhere between intrigued and curious but mostly confused as to why Zorro keeps coming. He reaches out his hand and she takes it with a smile. He pulls her up on stage in the center of it all.

"You're Zorro," Seychelles points out; her laughing rings out over the song. He can only nod to her then holds up a finger and reaches behind him to pull out his rose. When he hears her gasp he knows he's done the right thing with this.

She bits her lip and takes the rose, thanking him profusely. He responds with a kiss on the check and he hears her twinkled laughter again. Reluctantly he pulls back then points behind her at nothing in particular. Seychelles turns to see what he's talking about and it give him time to make his escape, back to his previous vantage point. She looks around for him, searching the crowd though he knows it's useless. She seems disappointed but looks back to the rose.

She notices the card. Good. Good.

Seychelles examines it for a moment then opens it. Her eyes widen and he smiles.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Merry Christmas! This is officially a day late! I'm sorry. I tried, really I did. But, in any case, it's early unless you're in like China or Japan. In which case, it's late Christmas Day if not the 26th, so it's not so bad. I assure you the 12th chapter will be on time! So, how did you like the switch in POV? This chapter took some serious thinking, hence the lateness but I figured switching POV was a good move. Well, you know who it's not but any guesses on who it is?_


	12. Twelve Drummers Drumming

**Twelve Drummers Drumming**:

_**The Man behind the Mask**_

"I can't," Seychelles pleads and shakes her head then turns from the door, ready to bolt.

Comoros, like a slightly taller brick wall, stops her and forces her around. "Yes you can and you will. Come on," she urges her back to the door by the shoulders, "you've come thing far, don't back out on the lucky guy now."

Had not Mauritius join in to shove her through the door, Seychelles may have crawled over Comoros and hid in the car. Even if she reconsiders doing that, which she does, the other two island nations each grab an arm and they march in like three pirate bandits. Well, two pirate bandits and Seychelles who looks more like a cross between a pirate and a mistress in her opinion. Comoros was so kind to exchange her red pirate's coat for a blue one to better match her mask, her pirate's vest for a corset that nearly kills her to get into. But she still has her white ruffled shirt and shirt thankfully. She's also allowed to keep her boots since, according the Comoros, they didn't look too 'piratety' but not her hat. Her hat had to go. In all, she feels more like a pirate's bar maiden and not a true pirate at all.

Comoros suggests that they mingle for a bit so the three of them walk around chatting to people. It's a good idea as it looses Seychelles' nervous, especially when she sees her friends and other nations that she knows.

Iceland comes up to her and compliments her choice in costume. Seychelles offers a friendly smile and a thank you. They talk for a little while, admiring the decor and plethora of finger foods and snacks. She asks if Denmark is around and Iceland assures her that he's hiding out somewhere. She makes a mental note and carries on with the conversation.

Mauritius comes up and drags her away to where the other African Nations are doing some caroling. Guinea brought his djembe and now Nigeria and Ghana are joining in to dance. Seychelles joins as well though she's not very good at it and even some southern European nations like Turkey and Portugal join in. Nations clap along and cheer. She goes out into the crowd and pulls shier nations like Liechtenstein into the circle who drags Switzerland with her. Austria, surprising, cheers the Swiss on and Hungary's right there laughing along with them.

Seychelles is so busy laughing and joking that when she's lifted off the ground, she laughs it away.

"Hey," Madagascar says and smiles in the way that he always does.

"Maddy!" Seychelles yells a bit breathless from her dancing and hugs her friend. "Aren't you cold? You're not even wearing a shirt. Just this," she picks at the fur pelts barely hanging on to his shoulder, "please tell me you're wearing pants." Seychelles looks down and sighs. It's not exactly _pants_, more like a fur skirt and matching boots. He looks like Tarzan in a lemur outfit.

Madagascar just laughs and nuzzles her hair. "I'm not Maddy tonight. I'm King Julien! Who are you, mysterious lady behind the mask?"

She rolls her eyes though her cheeks tint a little. "I'm a pirate. Can you put me down please?"

"Nope, not a chance," he says cheerfully and dances around with her in his arms as the music continues. Seychelles can do nothing but hold on to him as they dance in a circle, around the people. Madagascar laughs and she finds herself doing the same as the djembe changes rhythm and more nations decide to join in.

"There you are!" Someone yells and Seychelles looks down to see Comoros look at Madagascar disapprovingly, "where were you?" she questions.

Madagascar shrugs and finally puts her down. "I had to fix my costume just right. You like?" he grins at her and does a 360, showing off his outfit. Comoros rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

"You look ridiculous,"

"And yoooouuu," Madagascar drags out the word and snatches the hat from her head, "are too short to be an intimidating pirate."

"Give it back!"

Madagascar makes for the crowd, "Not a chance short stuff." Comoros goes after him and Seychelles just chuckles to herself and shakes her head.

"Mistletoe!" Someone yells and she turns so quickly that her face crashes directly into Prussia's. Her eyes widen as she realizes it's not just their face that's touching but also their lips and she backs away quickly.

The albino's laugh cackles even over the music and behind him Spain is laughing just the same. "You've just been kissed by the Bad Touch Trio! Consider yourself awesome and lucky." Prussia shouts and dangles the mistletoe over her head.

"My turn," Spain declares and pulls out his own mistletoe. Seychelles tries to back away but it's too late, he's pulled her. She squeezes her eyes shut. Spain goes so far as to do a little dip before planting his kiss on both her cheeks instead of her lips. She expects that to be all but she feel his lips near her ear. "You might want to find the real mistletoe before the night gets too late."

What? She blinks and looks at him confused. How did he know? Spain just smiles in that carefree way of his and winks then pulls her up to her feet again.

"BTT strikes again!" Prussia yells and dashes off with Spain to find another victim to kiss. Shortly after, Hungary goes after them yelling all hell at Prussia as Austria follows, his face flushed as he tries to keep up or from being kissed. She isn't quite sure.

But Spain is right. She needs to get to the mistletoe. That's her instructions, right? Seychelles looks up and around, trying to find the hanging ornament. It isn't long before she spots in hanging there near the center of the room. Alright, this is it, the moment of truth. She takes a deep breath and lets it go. She is Seychelles. She can do this. Just one step at a time, one foot after another and before you know, she's going to be standing there. So why aren't her legs moving? They are moving actually, or shaking more like it. Seychelles tries to still her trembling limbs by walking but it only makes her wobble and bump into people.

"Stay calm," she chants the mantra to herself, "it's fine. We're walking. He'll be there and everything will be fine." Right? Everything will be oka—,

"Seychelles!" Huh? "Sup? Are you enjoying the party?"

"I, uh…" Seychelles blinks and looks up. The mistletoe isn't above them. She looks back at America, dressed as Captain America of course, smiling kindly at her. "I am." She finally says, "It's really nice, all of the decorations and everything."

He nods enthusiastically then looks around before stepping a bit closer. "So, has it happened yet?"

"Has what happened?"

"You know," America urges then says, "the mistletoe," like it's the biggest mystery of the universe.

Seychelles fiddles with the ruffles on her sleeves and looks toward where she needs to go. "I was actually on my way there." She glances at him to see if anything may give away that he's really the guy.

America's smile does widen and he does look extremely excited. But then he pushes her off in that direction. "Well, what are you standing here for? Can't keep a guy waiting like that." He pushes her all the way despite her mild protesting. "You stay right here. The hero's job is done! I got you to the mistletoe safe and I'll keep it clear from people trying to bother you."

"What?" she looks at him more confused than ever.

America places his hands on his hips, "Don't worry, I got it covered." And with that, he leaves and waves overhead at her.

Seychelles waves back weakly and still very confused. Well, at the very least, she knows it's not America. That's one person off her list. She does as she's told though and stays right where she is. All by herself, in the middle of the room. It's a bit overwhelming and she fiddles more with her shirtsleeves, glancing around anxiously for her mystery man.

"Seychelles?" Oh god. "Why are you standing in the middle of the room?" She looks over her shoulder to see England watching her closely.

"England?" To be fair, he is on the list. "Is it you?"

"Of course it's me," he says and holds out his arms a bit, "My costume can't be that great of a disguise." He reaches for his checkered hat and bows a bit. "Sherlock Holmes, at your service, madam."

Seychelles chuckles and bows her head the same. "Your costume is awesome. You look great, Arthur."

He smiles in return. "Thank you and you look lovely as well. Although, I don't remember pirates wearing such a mask," he gives a feather a playful flick. "It suits you. I like it."

"It's a new addition," she admits care freely and adjusts the mask on her face. "But you like it? It's not too much?"

His smile widens and he nods in agreement and Seychelles thinks that, if it is England, he's doing a good job of putting her at ease in the situation. His eyes seem kind and he isn't being a possessive jerk. In fact, he's being very pleasant in her opinion and they chat for a little more about nothing in particular until he says something that catches her off guard.

"Seychelles, I must apologize." England starts rather ominously in her opinion.

She purses her lips and looks at him confused, "For what?"

England points to the ceiling, "I'm afraid I've put us in a rather compromising position." He admits, "There's a mistletoe above us."

Well she knows_ that_ and if he is whom she thinks, he knows it too! But the way the Brit looks bashfully at her tells it all. It isn't England.

"Hey!" they both look to see America rushing up to them. "Iggy, dude, you're interrupting," the blond says and starts to usher the other out of the way. England protests something vicious but America is having none of it and tries to get away.

Seychelles laughs aloud as the scene unfolds and has to cover her mouth to keep from laughing too loud. America was true to his word. He kept watch while whoever is supposed to be coming is on their way. Maybe he's late? Maybe he isn't here yet? She does another look around, trying to spot anyone that seems like they're coming her way. Lots of countries walk around but none pay her any real attention. Until.

It happens when she's looking in the opposite direction at the crowd. Someone taps her shoulder. When she turns she nearly stumbles backwards but he pulls right back to him. Her face heats up instantly and everything and everyone goes silent or so it seems like to her. She can't hear anything or see anyone and he's just looking at her with playful eyes and, God, she _knows_ those eyes. He's wearing a mask too, similar to hers but black and red and gold, in a checkered pattern that reminders her of a jester's costume. He looks nothing like a jester though. He's dressed very handsomely, in a typically 18th century red, pleaded coat that stops just above his knees, embroidered with golden rope trimmings as well as gold buttons and details stitched into the sleeves. Underneath a similar color waistcoat, white shirt and a white cravat, knee-length breeches, red in color that fit his legs. Traditional white stockings with black leather shoes.

It takes a minute but Seychelles finds her tongue and mutters a barely audible "Hi,"

He doesn't answer but he takes her hand and mimes a kiss since his mask, unlike hers, covers his entire face. He offers her a deep bow and Seychelles can't help but laugh at his exaggerated gesture.

"You won't say anything?" she guesses. "Or you can't?"

The nation shakes his head gravely, confirming her suspicion. Seychelles giggles again. The musicians were warming up for another song as the African Nations stop their tunes. The dance floor starts to crowd, and in what appears to be a fit of spontaneity—either that, or shameless, opportunistic flirting, Seychelles thinks with a laugh—the man extends his hand to her.

"Dance with you?" she asks. He nods. Well, if this is her guy, and she's quite sure at this point that it is, he's doing a great job at staying in character and making her laugh. It puts Seychelles at ease so, mustering as much prim properness as she can, she places her hand in his.

She doesn't know the dance but it's full of lively steps and latched arms. Dancing is and never was her strong suit so she trips over her legs to such a degree that she is almost stumbling more than dancing. It is so utterly ridiculous, but Seychelles is in such a good mood that she can't help but laugh at herself, even letting out an unladylike snort at one point—which of course just makes her laugh more. Her secret admirer, bless his heart, doesn't seem to mind one bit. Even seems to be charmed by it, if the crinkled eyes behind his mask are any indication. At the end, when all is said and done, Seychelles is left laughing and leaning on his arm for support.

"Is this my twelfth gift?" she manages to say between gleeful laughing fits, "A dance?"

He tilts his head first then shakes it. He puts a finger to his cheek in feigned thought. A moment later, he perks up, an idea apparently striking, and extends a finger toward her lips. And then, with the same finger, touches the lips of his mask.

"A kiss?" she guesses and he nods again but holds up a finger for her to wait. Quickly, he put his hands to his person, fumbling in his haste and pulls a velvet sash from inside his waistcoat. He holds it out in front of him and gestures towards her head.

Seychelles gaps incredulously. "A blind-fold?" The nation presses his palms together, silently entreating, looking for the entire world like the most pious saint to ever grace the earth, and Seychelles suddenly realizes that he is serious. He wants to blindfold her. He isn't ready to reveal himself. She blushes, her giddiness dying down a bit at the idea of kissing. She glances up only to realize that they danced their way back to the mistletoe. It is the season and they are under mistletoe.

"Alright," she agrees gamely, her mouth stretching back into a smile. "You can blindfold me." And she closes her eyes in good faith.

A moment later, the sash goes around her head, one of the velvet tails brushing against her exposed collarbone on the way, and her breath hitches at how illicit this all suddenly feel. Velvet and brocade and feather and lace, everything lush and exotic, the whole world buzzing around them, strings and flutes and drums and dim lights and here she is about to share something as intimate as a kiss with a person she think she knows.

There is a rustling of fabric, the touch of a leather glove gently against her chin, tilting her head up, and then all thoughts of illicitly sweep away. Slowly and passionately, his lips warm and soft and oh-so sensual press against her own. With her vision gone, her world reduces to touch and taste and smell and sound, everything close and amplified, and her heart races and her cheeks burn. And then his fingers are at the back of her head again, gently untying the blind-fold. It slides away from her face. She doesn't open her eyes until he pulls back but when she does—oh when she does seem him finally—his face is just as flushed as hers.

"Hey back," he says a knowing smirk plays on his soft lips.

"Hi," Seychelles says again, a little breathless and at a lost for words. "I don't understand…"

"You don't understand what?"

Seychelles blinks, "It's you."

"It is me."

"But I thought…"

His eyes crinkle in confusion. "Thought what?"

"…But I asked you…" he chuckles as she tries to explain.

"Asked me what?"

"You're not 'M'" she finally says as her thoughts slowly start to gather. "I asked you and you said it was _Italia_. That's not M."

Romano shakes his head and explains. "You asked me what _Italy_ is in Italian, not what my name is in Italian. Southern Italy is _Mezzogiorno _or midday if you translate it in English."

Seychelles thinks back for a moment to that they in Prussia's hotel room. He's right, she did ask about Italy but something else dawns on her that had been bugging her for awhile.

"The eighth gift," she asks him, "It was the dinner, wasn't it?"

Romano nods proudly.

"And Zorro?"

He rolls his eyes at that. "It was Spain's idea to dress up like that. I wouldn't have done something like that. Zorro isn't even Italian."

Seychelles just smiles, "I like it thought. It was cute. All of it, all of this was so cute, Romano."

His tanned cheeks tint red and he looks away almost bashfully. "Yeah, well, you can thank Feliciano for that. This was all his idea."

She shakes her head and takes his face in her hands. "No," Seychelles smiles at him, at Romano, at the guy she's had a crush on for years but never said anything. The guy who, for so long she's thought had a thing with Spain. "_Thank you_."

And she kisses him again.

* * *

><p><em>AN: End Scene! How many of you secretly thought Romano? No? No one? I thought I put some significant clues in there! Anyways. thank you all for sticking with me this far! I hope you had a Merry Christmas and I'm glad to have been a part of making your season bright!_

_Special Message for Tomato Bear: Hi deary! Just so you know, your message didn't at all detour me from writing. I know very well the meaning behind the Twelve Days of Christmas song since I am a Christian! But thank you for sharing that knowledge for others who may not have known. :)_

_**Totally Irrelevant Facts**:_

_**Word Count**: 14,797 without author's notes_

_**Page Numbers**: 27_

_**Musical Inspiration**: The entire Michael Buble Christmas album. _

_Peace, Love and Pasta!_

_-CeCe ^^_


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